


Invitation

by sirtalen



Series: The Redemption of Christopher [5]
Category: In Nomine
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 20:18:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11653980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirtalen/pseuds/sirtalen
Summary: An offer he'd dared not even hope for...





	Invitation

The old man sat behind his table at the outdoor weekend flea market, looking over the carefully lined up display of hand carved wooden trains, and porcelain dolls with carefully sewn dresses.  In one corner a Noah’s Ark sat, it’s animals still waiting to board, two-by-two, but in no particular hurry.  It was late in the afternoon, and the table was still depressingly full.  
  
“Nobody’s buying, Grandpa,” the young woman sitting beside him said, frowning as she cradled her nine month old son in her arms.  The baby fussed a little, but settled down with a promise of milk and a handful of Cheerios.  “People haven’t got any taste these days.  They just want things that blink and make noise to keep their kids hypnotized.”  
  
“No, no, I’m sure someone will come along,” the old man said, his reassurances sounding hollow even to his own ears.  “But you can go if you want.  Arthur needs his nap.”  
  
“But who’s going to help you clean up and get home?  It’s only a couple of more hours till closing time,” she argued.  
  
“I’ll manage,” he said, “Mrs. Rosenberg will give me a lift, I’m certain.”  
  
“You’re sure?” she asked.  
  
“I’ve got my phone if I need you.”  Not that he’d ever get comfortable using the thing.  He’d felt like such a fool asking for her husband’s help to program the cursed bit of Technology.  
  
His granddaughter stood up, still looking uncertain.  “Okay,” she said reluctantly.  “C’mon, Artie, give Great-Grandpa a kiss.”  Arthur made an enthusiastic gurgle and smooched the old man on the cheek, which was enough to raise the man’s face into a genuine smile.  
  
“Drive carefully, Gwen,” he said.  
  
His granddaughter smiled back, “I will, precious cargo and all.  I’ll see you back at the house.”  
  
The old man kept an eye on them as they headed towards the parking lot, only looking away when a young African-American woman wandered over to the table to examine his wares.  
  
“You make all of these yourself?  Even the dolls?” she asked, kneeling down to look one in it’s glass eyes.  The woman wore heavy silver chains at her wrists, and a matching necklace, but was dressed a tatty set of jeans and a long t-shirt that proclaimed she was nobody’s female dog.  
  
“Oh, yes,” he answered, warming up at the question.  “The bodies are cloth, but the head, arms, and feet are genuine porcelain.  I bake them up in a kiln I have at home.”  He picked up the doll and handed it to her.  “Her eyes blink too, see.”  
  
“Nice,” the woman said neutrally, holding the doll carefully, running one finger along to examine the material of the gingham dress.  
  
“They’re half-off today,” he said.  “If you have a younger sister or a cousin, I’m sure she’d love one.”  
  
“I dunno,” the woman said, one hand reaching back to her wallet, only to return empty-handed.  
  
“For you, 75% off,” he said.  “Or even free, if you’re willing to tell others to come here next week.”  He paused, trying not to flinch as he spotted the bulge at the small of her back, only partially hidden by her shirt.   _She’s armed._  
  
“You seem pretty desperate,” the woman said, not noticing his distress, or at least choosing not to notice.  The old man looked at the chains again, then at the weapon at her back, and then glanced over towards the parking lot.  
  
Gwen was standing by the open door of her car, having strapped Arthur into his baby seat, and was chatting with a tall woman who had a severe expression on her face, and a bulky looking man wearing a t-shirt with a snarling wolf’s head printed on the front.  
  
“Savariel, Watcher of the First Children, Angel of Toys, I wish to speak to you,” the woman said softly in Angelic, leaning over close to his face.  
  
“Please,” the old man said, his voice quavering, “don’t hurt them.  They don’t know what’s in their blood.  Neither of them show any signs of the taint.  They are innocent.  Do whatever you want to me, but don’t hurt them,  _please._ ”  
  
“My word of Honor, Savariel, no one human, angel, or otherwise will harm them so long as they are within my reach and there is breath in my Vessel,” she said in Angelic again, straightening up.  “Now, will you speak to me or not?”  
  
“Who are you?” the old man asked. He relaxed slightly, but only slightly, as he saw Gwen wave goodbye to the couple and drive off.  
  
“Elsa, Angel of Halloween Candy, Malakite of Creation, in service to Christopher, Malakite Archangel of Children.”  
  
The old man felt his jaw drop open.  “ _Malakite_  Archangel?  But I had heard…”  
  
“He fell into the hands of Andre, and by the Grace of God was given the strength to survive Lust’s tortures, and kill Lust’s Prince,” Elsa said flatly.  
  
“He killed Andre?  And now a Malakite holds Milady’s Word?”  The old man covered his eyes, not knowing whether to laugh or weep at the absurdity of it all.   _A Malakite holds Milady’s Word.  A **Malakite**.  Will a Tsaydim have it next?_  
  
“Yes,” Elsa confirmed.  When he looked up again, her face appeared a bit more kind.  “It hasn’t been an… easy transition, but Christopher serves his Word as deeply as he did before.”  
  
He let out a sigh.  “What do you want of me, Elsa of Creation?  I am a Watcher, and I am condemned to walk the Earth until the Final Days, or until Stone or Creation finds me and administers a Final Death.  To speak to me is to risk Judgement’s wrath.”  
  
“That is not… automatically True, now,” Elsa said carefully.  “The Hunts of Stone and Creation are now common knowledge, as is the revelation that Grigori families were also murdered.  This knowledge was revealed to Christopher while he was undergoing Andre’s vile tortures, and it pained him to learn from Hell what Heaven had kept secret.  He has convinced Dominic to bring the matter of the Griori Outcasting forward to be reviewed.”  
  
“And will he also review the matter of Milady’s vile murder?” the old man snapped.  But part of his soul began to shiver in wonder and anticipation.   _Judgement will review the matter.  I might be able to go **home**._  
  
“Christopher will not rest until this is done.  He had no knowledge of her until Andre’s revelations to him.  He was not permitted to know by the Host, and that angered him greatly.  I promise you, Savariel, justice  _will_  be finally be found for her.  But there are things I must ask of you first.”  
  
“What things?” the old man asked, feeling his soul shrink again.  
  
“Find all the Watchers that you can.  Tell them what I told you.  Ask them to summon Christopher as they were once able to summon their old Superior.  If they are free of Discord, or might be able to show that it might be worthy of removal, and might show that they have remained true to whatever Superior they served, then Christopher has a gift for them.  He will create Hearts for them, so that they need not go to Limbo if their Vessel is destroyed, and those Hearts will be held in Christopher’s Cottage if they wish, or hidden on the Earth or the Marches, wherever they please.”  
  
“New Hearts?” he said, confused. “Why would Christopher do such a thing?”  
  
“Because by your nature, the Watchers are closest to Humanity, and Christopher believes God must have had a reason for you to be able sire children, and so your Choir is of the utmost importance to his Word.  That, and he is tired of Heaven’s rejection of Grigori, when he believes we should show a united from against the threat that Lucifer and his Horde represents.”  
  
“I see,” he said.   _A Heart.  Kept in Heaven.  I could wake up in Heaven.  That would make Trauma almost **worth**  experiencing._  
  
Elsa picked up the doll she had been examining before, and looked at it studiously.  “There is one more thing.”  
  
“Oh?”   _Fool, did you think she would not exact a price of blood from you?  She is a Blackwing.  There is no compassion in them, only Honor._  
  
“Savariel, Angel of Toys, you once served First Children.  Would you serve Children once again, should Christopher ask it of you?”  
  
“I… I don’t… How…?  You mean, go back to Heaven,  _now_?”  
  
Elsa shook her head.  “Not yet.  Even if you had a Heart and went into Trauma, Christopher would be obligated to send you back to the Earth immediately, or force you into the Marches, at least until your case was reviewed.  But if he asked it of you, would you be willing to serve his Word on the Earth, until that day comes?”  
  
“Serve under a Malakite?” he asked, not to Elsa, not to himself, but to someone long lost to the Symphony’s song.  
  
“Not serve a Malakite, serve  _Children._ ”  
  
He gestured to the table of toys in front of him.  All handmade by him.  Each for it’s proper child, to help them be nurtured and grow.  
  
“I always have.”  
  
 **End**


End file.
